


A Home For Shadows

by actingwithportals



Series: We Are Wide Awake Now [11]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, Family Bonding, Gen, Hollow is referred to as the Vessel, Let Hornet Rest 2k21, Mom Herrah strikes again, back on my bullshit just in time for the HK 4th year anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actingwithportals/pseuds/actingwithportals
Summary: The world is beginning to heal from centuries of Infection, but not all are healing so easily with it, and sometimes in order to heal one needs an extra push.Not everyone has yet made it home, after all.
Relationships: Herrah the Beast & Hornet & The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel, Herrah the Beast & Hornet (Hollow Knight), Herrah the Beast & Midwife (Hollow Knight), Herrah the Beast & The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Hornet
Series: We Are Wide Awake Now [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740406
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	A Home For Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be posted literally a month ago in time for my birthday, but life happens so much so this got delayed. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy some more mom Herrah! I literally will never get enough of her.

The world almost felt normal again.

Well, as normal as it could when most of the population had either been killed, severely incapacitated, or otherwise entirely lost without a trace due to centuries of raging Infection from a malicious god hellbent on misplaced revenge. When one’s lived through such horrors, or in some way taken role in them, one learns to savor the simple victories.

And simple victories were becoming more and more bountiful as time wore on. Though Deepnest still felt more like a corpse than a queendom most days, Herrah could not deny that life was springing anew amidst the carnage.

Hope was blossoming amongst her people – healing was growing and prospering in all corners and crevices of the dark. Revival might have been slow, but it was _certain_.

A life reborn _was certain_.

Barely two months had passed since Herrah had awoken and the Infection had dissipated from the realm, yet already there was word of Weavers and Spiders expecting. Midwife had found herself unexpectedly busy in recent days, and as far as Herrah could tell such would be true for some time to come.

How fortunate they all were to have not lost one so treasured.

With the news of future life on its way into their world reborn, the Den had been practically alight with the excitement of it all. Silks needed to be weaved, blankets and cloaks sewn, and countless dens repaired or entirely rebuilt. Hardly did any have time for catching their breath amidst the endless lists of necessities to be met – and normally Herrah would not contend with this. Work was unavoidable; an obligation that could not and _should not_ be taken lightly, especially by those in power and position to offer the most aid. There could be no rest for the weary if weary was the only step above nearly dead. So she did not rest, and of her Devout who could still stand, they did not rest either.

A shame, then, that with all her gained waking hours it took days for Herrah to notice that even the weary were beginning to stumble.

“When was the last time you saw our dear princess sleep?” Midwife had asked her one morning, over rushed cups of tea with what little amounts of honey they dared allow themselves to use. The stores were running thin, and there was no guarantee more could ever be obtained, given the report of the Hive’s last known state of being.

“No more than two nights,” Herrah answered with confidence. “I tucked her in myself, after an evening of weaving.”

“The night you were telling me about when her sibling came to find you of their own accord?” Midwife asked, and with the way her claws tapped against the sturdy handle of her cup, Herrah knew there was a layer of skepticism in her words.

“The very one,” Herrah affirmed.

“Hm,” the cup in Midwife’s claws was turned, the tea within sloshing against the sides just enough to be audible. “My friend, when was the last time _you_ have slept?”

“You’re stalling,” Herrah said. “And the answer is irrelevant, all the same. Get to the matter.”

“The matter, my Queen, is that the night of which you speak was nearly two weeks ago now.”

Some tunnels above, the sound of a thread being pricked could be heard amidst the quiet.

“You exaggerate.”

“For once, your Majesty, I do not.”

Another thread pricked. Two more some paces down.

“Perhaps,” Herrah began, slowly testing her words as if they threatened to betray her. “The days have begun to wear on me.”

“They have worn on all of us,” Midwife agreed. “And though we cannot avoid such weariness entirely, I worry our Pale Gift is pushing herself beyond reasonable limits.”

“What leads you to such a conclusion?” Herrah asked, not even remotely concerned with the note of worry in her tone. If anyone were allowed to witness her weaknesses, her Midwife would be the first.

“Her room has not been touched in at least a week,” Midwife explained. “And her absence from the Den has been apparent enough of late that the Vessel actually inquired to me of her whereabouts. Not with any manner of words, of course, more of a conveying of impressions, but you understand my meaning.”

“She has been absent?” Herrah asked, shifting her legs as if to stand. “For how long?”

“Settle down, you needn’t worry yourself on this detail. She is still often seen out and about hunting in the tunnels to the north,” Midwife assured her, using the tone that she usually reserved for dealing with unruly children or anxious parents. Herrah might’ve felt patronized, if such vocality had come from anyone else. “The part which concerns me is she is clearly not taking adequate rest if her sibling has become uneasy enough to ask _me_ about her standing. I can only assume this means it has been a few days since she has last checked in with them, and I’ve lived long enough to recognize when such concern is well-founded.”

Herrah couldn’t argue that point – it was one of the many facets of her Midwife’s profession, after all.

“And if you haven’t noticed,” she continued. “Then I must say – begging your pardon – but as your friend I believe this is all cause for reasonable . . . disagreement.”

For a moment, Herrah was silent, but she could not find fault in the insinuation. However much the realization pricked uncomfortably at her hide.

“I will see to this,” she eventually said, draining the last of her tea and rising to finally stand. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“You understand that my concern is not only for the princess, but for you as well, yes?” Midwife asked, claws again back to tapping against her cup in what some might mistake for nervousness, but Herrah knew well to be concealed impatience.

“Your concern is appreciated,” Herrah answered, more stiffly than she had intended, but circumstances were hardly breezy of late. “I will take it to heart.”

If her Midwife had parsed the platitudes in her words (and of course she would, without question) she did not comment beyond a quiet huff. She had said her piece, and it was Herrah who would have to make something of it now.

And so she would.

* * *

The Vessel was in their room, as they were more often than not.

They looked up to her when she appeared in the entryway, seemingly as idle as ever, without even something as simple as a thread and loom in their hand to keep them occupied. Hornet had said she was going to see to instructing them on basic weaving, but evidently such a promise hadn’t yet been fulfilled.

Or perhaps it had, and the Vessel just hadn’t yet taken to working on their own. They did know they were allowed to . . . entertain themself while alone, didn’t they?

“Has your sister stopped by today, Hollow?” Herrah asked, sure that she already knew the answer, but felt it was pertinent to ask anyways.

The Vessel held her gaze for a moment, and then subtly shook their head.

“Hm,” Herrah hummed. “I expected as much. If you feel able, come with me and we will find her.”

She did not have to wait for the Vessel to rise and stand as if at attention. That was . . . still a problem, it seemed. They would need to continue to work on that.

Herrah gave them a small wave with a claw to follow, and turned to make towards the exit of the Den.

The morning was still early. Though deep underground with no sign or tell of the sun, time could still be gauged with the rise and fall of the tides of the pool below. And even from this distance far above, any ordinary beast could see through the dark to the height of its fathomless depths.

“Traversing the Village is not a feat meant for outsiders,” Herrah explained as she and the Vessel stepped out onto the Den’s entranceway. “Your stature should make up for your lack of silk, but if you still do not feel steady enough on your own claws I will make arrangements.”

The Vessel of course gave no response, but they clicked their claws in test on the ground beneath them and seemed satisfied with whatever they inferred.

“Very well,” Herrah said, letting a small note of satisfaction be heard in her tone. For all of the Vessel’s hesitance, they at least seemed to desire independence. That was a good start.

More platforms and grip-holds had been erected over the past weeks during the initial reconstructions of the Village, which was a lucky benefit now that the Vessel would be wandering about. Such had been done to accommodate the Deepnest denizens who had been left disabled from the Infection, to the point of needing more thorough aiding in mobility. The knowledge that such accessibilities would need to be more thoroughly commonplace made something inside of Herrah feel heavy, for the reason that it displayed just how much her people had gone through while she slept. But what was done, was done. And it would be remiss of her to ignore such needs for pity even for a moment.

Though the morning was still early, many beasts already roamed the northern tunnels. Those who could spare the time stopped to bow and greet their queen, while others whose duties demanded they not tarry carried about their ways with an acknowledging hiss at best. It mattered not to Herrah; reverence was hardly worth consideration when the world was little more than a gasping husk daring to claw back to life. Some things were more important than tradition.

But many did stop to stare at the Vessel, who – being more akin to bug than beast – had to kneel awkwardly with their mask tilted up so that their horns would not catch on the ceiling as they trailed behind Herrah. Unlike herself and all Spiders and Weavers and beasts alike, skittering low to the ground was not supported by the Vessel’s . . . unfortunately bug-like anatomy.

That is to say, it was a sight far more amusing than it should be. And would have been more so if Herrah didn’t feel genuine concern for their posture. Honestly, it was a wonder their shell hadn’t cracked at the neck and down their back at this rate.

“Not much farther yet,” Herrah called behind in assurance. “The failed tramway was constructed in a cavern far more suited for one of your height. We may rest there for a time once your sister is located.”

The Vessel made no response but to continue following. Even if they were so inclined, Herrah doubted they could – their one arm was already relegated to the task of keeping their upper half upright, but by the way that limb was beginning to shake, it was sure to give out before long.

Still, they made no signs of complaints, so Herrah would not dote.

True to her word, it was not long before the confined tunnels that made up most of Deepnest’s roads opened up into high vaulted ceilings and echoing chambers. The cavern that was supposed to house a tramway between one of Hallownest’s major transportation hubs and the heart of Deepnest stood idle in the years of disuse that even predated the Infection. Herrah had made vocal her warnings to the King that her people would not stand for such a blatant intrusion of their home, and it was His own arrogance that cost the lives of the Hallownest bugs still littered through the half-built halls.

A grim tomb tucked within grimmer tombs. So naturally, it made a fitting place of rest for hunters.

Hornet sat poised on a bench atop one of the few completed platforms (though any tram that might’ve made its stop there never reached that far into its short-lived life), cleaning her needle in melodious rhythm that Herrah could tell at a distance was just discordant enough to speak of exhaustion. And if that did not speak enough, her daughter remained unaware of their arrival until Herrah and the Vessel both were within lethal distance.

The hunter princess was slipping.

“Have you come to find ghosts good company for weapon care as of late, daughter?” Herrah asked, more statement than question, and her voice a sudden rumble amidst the quiet.

Their arrival was a shock indeed, for Herrah’s greeting was met with Hornet nearly jumping her full height off of the bench, needle now raised and pointed to strike. With fondness, Herrah idly wondered if she would be able to meet her mark.

“Mother, Hollow,” she exhaled, her voice just as taut as her limbs, but slowly settling into something less threatened. “Why have you come so far from the Den?”

“Looking for you,” Herrah answered simply, motioning for the Vessel to follow her towards the platform and settling herself on the floor across from the bench. “You have been absent from home for some time, and your sibling and I have missed your company.”

Sibling in question also settled themself onto the platform floor, and Herrah could almost swear they sighed in relief to be off their feet.

“I have been occupied with my duties,” Hornet stated plainly, letting her needle rest at her side but still holding her standing. “Haven’t we all?”

“We have,” Herrah agreed. “But if only a few assign themselves to carry the weights and do not acknowledge their own needs for rest, will not the entire system fail?”

“I have-!” Hornet began, clipping her words to take a breath and presumably measure her tone. “I have rested. You witnessed as much.”

“I witnessed you cleaning your needle at the entrance to a cavern rife with dirtcarvers,” Herrah said. “What I have not witnessed for some time is you _resting_.”

“Mother, there is no-!”

“Hornet. Please, come sit.”

The hall held its breath in a balance for a moment, before Hornet sighed and relented to sitting on the floor along with Herrah and the Vessel.

“I’m sitting now,” Hornet said, tone conveying anything but patience. “Is that all you wished of me?”

Herrah could sigh and come up with any number of lectures ranging from the dangers of stubbornness to the effect of underlying messages sent through body language, but she did not get the chance. Someone else had a response instead.

The Vessel had reached out their hand, taking Hornet’s in their own and held it still while their eyes (did they have eyes . . .?) locked firmly with hers.

Hornet did not respond, and the Vessel made no further movements. But they kept her gaze locked, and until Hornet sighed and gently pulled her hand away, their stare remained unrelenting.

Whatever that exchange had meant, it must have satisfied the Vessel in some way. They returned to resting their hand by their side, and their shoulders noticeably relaxed.

If Herrah were any less alert, she might not have noticed the sudden absence of a chill that had at some point come to hang in the room. Entertaining _that_ particular question was likely better left for later days.

“You have found me,” Hornet continued on, her voice holding less bite than it had a moment ago. “So do you intend for us to sit here in silence, or was there an arrangement you had in mind?”

Herrah looked between her daughter and the Vessel, both watching her with looks of expectation. Though they had shown earlier strain, the Vessel now sat with a more at ease posture, and Herrah hoped that meant it was safe to assume they would find beginning the next leg of their journey suitable.

“Come,” she said, rising on four of her legs and venturing towards the cavern’s entrance. “While rest on its own is good and well, some places are more suited for such reprieves.”

Whether her words eluded them or were obvious, neither child posed question or argument, and the three traveled once again out into the tunnels of Deepnest.

* * *

“You and Hollow traversed a quarter of Deepnest to find me, just so you could bring us to . . . the hot spring?”

The cavern whispered in warm burbles and lazily moving steam, the eerie glow of a spring infused with that strange pale light illuminating only three faces who found themselves settled into its pool. Convincing the Vessel to strip of their new cloak and submerge into the spring had taken little effort, but likewise for Hornet had required Herrah to make a number of exasperated and bargaining looks, until her daughter finally followed suit and settled into the one still unoccupied corner.

Only a glance was necessary to see that Hornet only just tolerated Herrah’s request. Such challenge she had long since come to expect, but familiarity did not make that truth sting any less.

“I said you needed rest,” Herrah reminded her, settling herself in as well as she carefully removed her mask and veil to set along the spring’s edge. “Something a bit more fulfilling than halfhearted snatches of sleep was in order for all of us.”

“But there is still work to be done!”

“And we will tackle it with strengthened bodies and cleared minds,” Herrah said. “After you have recovered both.”

Hornet did not respond, merely allowing herself to sink just a bit lower into the spring water until the tip of her own unmasked face grazed its surface.

Oh, she was pouting. Herrah filed that observation away, taking only the smallest of moments to marvel at the fact that it had been countless years since she had last seen that expression from her child.

Whether out of solidarity, a desire to copy or conform, or some other reason Herrah could not yet parse, the Vessel followed the influence of their sister, sinking lower as well into the water until its surface reached just below their mask. Considering their height and the depth of the pool, Herrah doubted it was comfortable, but that really wasn’t for her to point out.

The cavern burbled on, steam rising and falling like Weavers on silk. Just as harmonious; just as silent.

Silence was exactly how the cavern carried on for some time, and Herrah could truthfully only consider this a reasonable success. Though she had inquiries to make and words to share of her own, resting amidst the quiet and the steam and the burbling with only one’s thoughts to keep them company could do wonders in its own way towards recovery and recuperation. Let the minds wander, let them simmer and steep and find comfort in the quiet darkness.

For reality tainted by the screeching of light would demand to be faced again soon enough.

After a time, Herrah could almost feel herself wanting to doze. She resisted, of course, keeping instead a pair of keen eyes on one child, while a second on the other, but the exhaustion was there, nonetheless. Whispering under her hide and humming lullabies that wished to steadily pull her under. Sleep had been an elusive thing since waking, and Herrah did not find she enjoyed noncommittal flirtation much these days, especially from one so scorned.

“You’ve traveled far of late,” Herrah said with attention turned towards Hornet, choosing instead to seek words rather than to be sought by slumber. “Have you heard news from Hallownest along the road in the last several days?”

Hornet almost seemed startled by the question, but it was a reaction confined only to her eyes rather than limbs. “None,” she answered. “Of what bugs remain, few would dare step foot into a place of beasts. Why?”

Herrah hummed, tracing the edge of her face idly with a claw. “A trip to Hallownest will be in order soon,” she said. “If I am awake, it is safe to assume the same true of the other Dreamers. It would be wise to assess what allies we have left in this new world and learn what stories their own slumbers have left to be told.”

Hornet stared for a moment, face turning to look to the Vessel, and then back to Herrah. “I assumed you and the other Dreamers were in constant company throughout the Dream,” she said, an uncertain note wavering in her words. “What do you mean ‘stories left to be told’?”

The Vessel hadn’t moved for some time, but Herrah could see now how they had become more tense than they were a moment ago while the room was still quiet. “Dreams are rarely so straightforward. There were times when our presences were together, and many more when they were not.”

If the Vessel had sunk lower into the spring, no one dared give notice.

“In truth, the last I spoke with them was some time ago now,” Herrah continued. “Those moments were brief, and given the end result of them, there is much to be discussed. What did you call that vessel, again? A little ghost?”

She anticipated a reaction, of course she did. But what Herrah did not anticipate, however, was for that reaction to be more present in the Vessel than Hornet. While her daughter barely flinched, though her eyes widened for a moment before narrowing into thought, the Vessel immediately sat up straighter in the pool, sloshing water to and fro in their movement and yet paying no mind to the disturbance they caused as their gaze landed only and resolutely on Herrah.

The dark did not frighten her, it never had. But staring into nothingness as it stares back in indecipherable intensity due to the nature of itself chilled Herrah to her core in a way she hadn’t felt since . . . well. Times she would rather not remember.

It was easy to forget when they were always so docile that the Vessel was still the damned child of gods. And Herrah was merely a Spider.

“Yes,” Hornet said, voice quiet and sounding almost far away. “The little ghost.”

The Vessel stared on.

Composure was one thing Herrah was grateful to excel with, so her words held steady when she continued. “Confronting them was the last I saw of the other Dreamers,” she said. “And given what befell the world after, I am sure we might all have words to exchange. That Teacher in particular seemed to hold thoughts I would much like to hear. As soon as Deepnest is stable enough to be safely left under the watch of the Devout, a journey east will be in order. I assume you would wish to join?”

The question, of course, was pointed towards Hornet. But the words themselves were left intentionally open, and that nothingness still prickling at her hide shifted minutely as if in affirmation.

Her hairs stood all the straighter.

“That would be wise,” Hornet agreed, still seemingly oblivious to the second conversation happening behind the curtain. “There are those in the town above that kingdom whom I should speak with, anyways.”

_Oh?_ “Have you engagements there?” Herrah asked, finding the barest hint of a conversation foothold and doing her damnedest to seize it.

Hornet appeared to be holding back a grimace, and yet something in the Vessel almost relaxed. Curious. “The denizens of that town and its . . . neighbors . . . offered us a great deal of help after the Infection fell away. We do owe them our gratitude, and I,” she paused, swallowing as if the words were a bitter medicine she needed to force down. “I did promise to let some know of how we fared on our journey home.”

Where a moment ago Herrah felt only an oppressive sense of cold, the Vessel now seemed to radiate . . . was that amusement? Smugness, even?

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Hornet snapped, turning her attention to her sibling and sloshing water in their direction with the movement of her accusing glare. “It was your idea to make friends with them in the first place.”

The Vessel neither relented nor pressed the matter further. But they did raise their hand to firmly skim fingers over the water’s surface, sending their own small wave in Hornet’s direction. The action of almost playfulness from the Vessel was jarring enough on its own but made all the more unsettling in that their expression was blank, even bored.

Unamused, and wanting Hornet to know that.

For a moment, Herrah half expected Hornet to retaliate, and for herself to have a truly bizarre splash fight on her hands. But Hornet instead slumped back against the spring’s edge, crossing her arms and glaring pins into the softly bubbling surface.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But if he kisses my hand again, I will stab him.”

“Who?” Herrah asked, and she was pleasantly surprised to hear that her own voice sounded amused and at ease. Like the world was righting itself again.

Hornet groaned and sunk further into the water. “That insufferable, riddle-laden, smirk-wearing, too-good-for-simple-answers-and-straight-forward-conversation troupe master.” Herrah could practically feel the spring grow hotter in Hornet’s ire. “You ask him for one favor and suddenly he thinks he can go sticking his claws into businesses not his own, the entitled crawler.” Hornet sat up suddenly, whipping to the side to face the Vessel once again. “You fancy him, don’t you? That’s why you keep insisting to me we have to go pay our thanks. Is that it?”

The Vessel, for all their stoicism and composure, raised a hand once again and sloshed a well-aimed spray of water directly at their sister’s face, not breaking eye contact for even a moment.

Herrah really hadn’t yet seen it all, had she?

“Aha! So I’m right!” Hornet exclaimed, not minding the droplets of water that dripped down her face as she jumped to her feet and pointed an accusatory claw at her sibling. “It _is_ because you fancy him!”

The Vessel stared at Hornet for a long time, eventually raising their hand, and while both Herrah and Hornet tensed in anticipation for them to splash at her yet again, such retaliation was not taken.

Their hand raised just below and to the side of their mask, and slowly, _slowly_ , fingers adjusted and curved into a shape.

They were signing.

Hornet immediately lowered herself back into the pool, watching her sibling with quiet, rapt attention and waiting patiently for whatever words they had finally found within themself to say.

The Vessel stopped, hand suddenly tensed and for a concerning moment beginning to lower again, but they seemed to take a steadying pause and continued with their motions until the first letter formed.

“L.”

Hornet remained still, and Herrah could truly see just how formidable of a hunter her daughter must be with such restraint and poise. So she kept her eyes on her, only giving the quickest glances to the Vessel to watch for what the rest of their word would be while allowing them some space to breathe with not every ounce of attention on them.

“I.”

It took a while before the Vessel considered their words complete and lowered their hand, and whether that brevity was out of shyness, uncertainty with the signs, or something else entirely, Herrah couldn’t be sure. That was a question for a later time – for now the more interesting matter lied in what the Vessel had to say at all.

“Little ghost.”

Herrah continued to watch Hornet, and her daughter luckily seemed to be more in tune with her sibling’s statement than herself, because Hornet’s expression softened into something distinctly _knowing_.

And . . . distinctly sad.

“Yes,” Hornet said, voice grown quiet and gentle in stark contrast to her earlier fiery excitement. “We will ask him about the little ghost. That is the reason you wish to return so soon, I take it?”

The Vessel did not raise their hand to speak again, but they did give their sister a small nod, and that was _something_.

As if finally remembering the cavern was not alone to them, Hornet turned back to Herrah. “He knew them,” she explained. “But told us little. Only riddles and hints that mean nothing without an accompanying context. Perhaps he would be more willing to share what he knows with you now that you are more aware to ask yourself.”

Her last words were aimed to the Vessel, and though they clearly acknowledged her, no more nods or words were given now.

Herrah wasn’t naïve. Though she held Higher Beings with about as much respect as a Nosk on a bad day, she had been keen to keep herself aware of their names and what faces they chose to display. After the closeness with which she had come to know the Pale King, and by extension His Lady, Herrah understood that keeping those in power close was far more valuable than at an aggressive distance.

She knew there were two sides to Dreams, and one disguised itself more cleverly. More whimsically.

The arrival of that Higher Being in this dying kingdom was not so surprising, but the familiarity in which her daughter regarded him _was_. And perhaps less surprising and more disconcerting was the apparent connection he had with that little shadow who dared to contend with a destiny forbidden to them. Even if such an affront was ultimately all of their salvation.

_Who was this little ghost?_

“The journey to Dirtmouth is far,” Herrah said, letting her thoughts drift away like the steam dancing above her head. “And there is much still to be done here. The work will go faster, however, if one keeps themselves well rested and nourished. Do you feel refreshed, daughter?”

Hornet looked around herself, as if she had forgotten for a moment where they were, and turned back to Herrah with a nod. “Yes, I will be ready to return to the hunt if you are granting me leave.”

Herrah shook her head. “Your determination is admirable, and a valuable quality for one of your rank. But an hour to soak will not undo weeks of running yourself ragged. Go with your sibling back to the Den, find yourselves some food and attend to whatever needs Midwife might have for you. You can return to the road again tomorrow after you’ve slept a full night.”

For a moment Hornet looked as if she wanted to argue but nodded her head instead and rose again to her feet. When all had been dried of the excess water clinging to their shells, and cloaks, shawls, needles and masks returned to rightful places, Herrah saw her children off back in the direction of home. But she did not join them, not yet.

For now, there were answers to seek.

* * *

The candles burned dim, but light enough still remained to make sense of the threads in her claws. Wax of the Hive always was so dependable.

“Poor dears passed out as soon as they settled into the Vessel’s room,” Midwife said, folding up newly woven silks and shelving them to be dyed in the morning. “I didn’t have the heart to move Hornet to her own nest while she slept so soundly tucked into her sibling’s side, precious thing.”

Herrah nodded and gave a quiet hum in answer. Likely it was better this way – if Hornet dared to wake in the night and attempt to return to her duties hours earlier than reasonable, the Vessel would surely refuse her leave.

“I can’t help but to have noticed you did not return with them earlier,” Midwife continued, her tone casual but ever attempting to needle its way into places it by all accounts _shouldn’t be_ , but had earned a spot in, nonetheless.

“I went to visit the Maskmaker,” Herrah answered, focus still held to her weaving. “There were . . . matters to discuss.”

“Matters unrelated to masks, I presume?”

Herrah kept weaving.

She felt more than heard her Midwife sigh. “And just what are you meddling in now, my friend?” she asked. “Have we not enough worries still lingering to last the rest of our lives?”

“You met that little vessel, yes?” Herrah asked, ignoring her Midwife’s own inquiries. “While I was still in the Dream?”

A scoff was to be felt now. “I did,” she said. “Unnerving little thing, leading around a fire-breathing menace too, as if they needed _more_ nightmarish accompaniments besides just their own. Not nearly as well-mannered as Hollow, neither of them.”

“Your assessment is unusually cutting,” Herrah noted. “Do I sense personal offense?”

“You sense charred legs and a dented mask,” Midwife explained. “Why, what brings this to your mind?”

Herrah’s weaving kept on, claws steady and methodical with years of routine drilled into her that no manner of Dream could erase. “That unnerving little thing is the reason I am awake and reunited with my family, and the reason my daughter can sleep peacefully with her sibling. A sibling who spoke today, for the first time I believe I have ever seen them attempt communication beyond insinuations and stilted gestures. They _asked_ about that unnerving little thing – that shadow who is the reason they’ve been given a chance to ask about anything at all. I want to know who they were, Midwife. I want to know what became of someone so important to those most dear to me.”

Her Midwife did not have a response to that.

“The Maskmaker had met them,” Herrah continued. “Just the once, and that nightmare child was in their company. I assume it was along their way to you, and eventually their way to here. The Maskmaker hadn’t much to offer – evidently the little shadow is of fewer words than Hollow. But there are others who likely knew them more, beyond Deepnest’s borders.”

“Do you intend to seek those others?” Midwife asked, her attention now on Herrah alone, the silks in her claws hanging listlessly, forgotten.

“There are those in Hallownest with whom I must confer regardless,” Herrah said. “What’s a few additional stops along the road?”

“That child isn’t Hollow,” Midwife said. “The answers you seek may not be to your liking.”

“Perhaps,” Herrah agreed. “But I will seek them all the same. My children deserve their family – whatever shape that family might take.”

“The vessels aren’t your children, my friend.”

Herrah did not respond.

In a corner, a single candle crackled and fizzled out, its wick finally expended.

“In that case, I will bid you goodnight, my Queen,” Midwife said, the soft sound of silks shifting as the remaining ones were folded and shelved accordingly. “Do not forget your own rest.”

The room was filled with the sound of a dozen shuffling legs, until eventually fading out into echoing quiet. Herrah was alone once more.

Rest. A thing even gods and creatures of void needed. A thing Spiders could not do without for long, no matter how much had been previously enforced upon them.

Did shadows rest, wherever they lay? Did the dark slumber now that the light had finally gone to sleep?

Even shadows must grow tired. Even shadows must come home.

Yes, come home.

**Author's Note:**

> I think Hollow deserves to be a little unnerving sometimes, too. Ghost can share that title.


End file.
